


The Devil wears a Suit and Tie

by The_Owl_Who_Writes



Category: U2 (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-05
Updated: 2019-08-05
Packaged: 2020-07-31 16:13:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20117899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Owl_Who_Writes/pseuds/The_Owl_Who_Writes
Summary: And he said "I know you, I know you young man"I know you by the state of your hands"You're a six-string picker, just as I am"Let me learn you somethin': I know a few turns to make all the girls dance(Edge POV, set in October 2017, São Paulo)





	The Devil wears a Suit and Tie

**Author's Note:**

> Hello dear reader,
> 
> The last time I wrote here was January. When I originally wrote this (it got deleted on accident), I apologized for my lack of posts on here. I decided not to include it here when I was rewriting this. Yes, it is a shame that the time I want to dedicate to writing is very limited, but I have other commitments that are very important to me.
> 
> Regardless, how have you been? It is August, and I will be beginning school again. My summer holidays have gone by so quickly. I participated in an internship program for half of June and nearly all of July. I went to the beach with some close family friends and watched the sunrise. I got a piano, and began to learn how to play it. I saw “Hamilton: An American Musical” after years of waiting, and even got to meet some of the actors. The rest of my year will be filled with schoolwork, studying, and dancing. However, I may be seeing The Rolling Stones in two weeks (if I can find a ride to the venue in the bay area) and in November, I'll be celebrating my birthday in Australia and seeing U2 for the third time. 
> 
> This fic is a combination of a story idea I've always wanted to write, and a simple thought that came to me. It's taken me awhile to write it, but I am proud of what it is. It was loosely based off a song with the similar title. I do not know how to add links properly, but I suggest you find the song on YouTube or where you listen to songs and have a listen to the song!
> 
> This story was also based off a picture I stumbled across. Turns out the photo was taken in Mexico City rather than Sao Paulo like I thought, but hey it still works, right?
> 
> There is a reference to a certain article from The Sunday Times. AND IT IS ONE OF THE STUPIDEST ARTICLES EVER WRITTEN IN MY OPINION AND I HATE THE AUTHOR FOR WHAT HE SAID ABOUT BONO. Please do not be like me and be curious and read it you will not enjoy it and bono deserves all the hugs in the world. 
> 
> *Very serious note that it is important to read* If you or someone you love struggles with body dysmorphia, please reach out for support. Please, no matter what you think, you are beautiful and you are enough. And this does apply to any mental health issue. Please. Someone is always there for you. 
> 
> (Also I don’t write smut. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯)
> 
> Many thanks to my friend IblamethisonSherlock, for all her advice and being my beta reader. All the love from my nest in very sunny California (west coast, best coast)
> 
> Enough of me rambling. Please read, kudo, comment, whatever.
> 
> Without further ado, on with the show!

~~~~

Up here, everything is peaceful. As far as I can see are the tops of buildings, pressed against a vibrant blue backdrop that is the sky. Around us, people are setting up equipment for our small performance that will be aired on television.

Someone has set up a stool and you're sitting on it, adjusting the mic stand to your desired height. I walk over to you.

“We should have gotten those red chairs, from that little thrift shop. You know, the one we visited with the rest of the band and Cat,” You begin when I get close enough to you.

“We should have,” I say,

“Plus, there were two, one for you and one for me.”

“Maybe we’ll go back if we have time and buy them for ourselves.”

“Are you ready?”

“When am I never ready for a performance?” You smile and get down from your stool. You lean over and give me a tender kiss on the cheek. I can’t help but smile back. You are truly a ray of sunshine.

Someone, a person assisting us in our little performance I assume, comes over to us and points to the row of guitars, all tuned and ready for use. We walk over together, and I chose one of my acoustics. But you're looking at the Gretsch that you used to play, before everything unraveled and changed. You take it off the rack and slip the strap over you. Something changes inside of you, your eyes are closed, your shoulders are back and you hand is hovering over the strings. Your mouth is moving, but I can’t make out what you are saying. I place a hand on your shoulders and your eyes snap open. Someone is calling our names, and you quickly put the guitar away.

“Come on,” you say and we walk back together, and I notice you looking longingly back at the guitar.

~~~~

_ Too weak coffee in a styrofoam cup. The beige and blue tiles that make up the floor. A too bright lightbulb in the ceiling above. _

_ I'm sitting next to Ali, who has her head leaning against the edge of your bed. Her eyes are closed, but they're still puffy and her cheeks are still wet. I turn my focus to the nylon seat, the same hue as the blue tiles on the floor. I can't force myself to look at you, not after what happened today. _

_ “I don't think I've told you yet,” Ali turns her head so she's facing me. She looks at the cup and I hand it to her, I couldn't stomach it anyway, “But while you were out speaking to Morleigh on the phone, the surgeon came in. They're going to operate on his hand tomorrow, first thing in the morning.” _

_ “Have you told him yet?” _

_ “I was going to tell him everything when he woke up from the surgery tomorrow,” she took another sip of coffee, “What are we going to do Edge? What is he going to do?” Her eyes are watering again and I put my arm around her. _

_ “It's going to be okay. Remember what they told us before we saw him? He'll be okay. It just seems awful now, but he has the support he needs to recover.” _

_ “I hope so,” she sighs, “I should probably call Eve back. She's been leaving me messages. I'll be back in a moment.” _

_ As soon as she leaves I force myself to take a look at you. _

_ I don't know why I thought it wasn't going to be so bad. But when I had walked into your room, seeing you felt like a punch to the stomach. The metal contraption that kept your arm in place, running from your shoulder to your wrist. The bandages on your face. The various noises of the machines hooked up to you. God, all I want is for you to open your eyes and for this all to be a dream. Then we could just walk away from this all and never have to worry. I reach over and grab your right hand and press it against my cheek. Your touch is cool. _

_ I try to make as little noise as I can to avoid waking you. _

~~~~

People are constantly coming up to us, congratulating us on the show, the end of another successful tour, the new album. More people (mostly from the crew) are streaming in with every passing minute. We’re the only band members here, Adam has gone off to be with Mariana and her family and Larry immediately went off to his session of physical therapy. Your body is still shaking from the adrenaline of being on stage, and words still won’t form properly. Your eyes are focused on the small disco ball, flashing neon colors at various times.

It’s too hot and crowded in the room now. You tap my arm, and whisper in my ear,

“Let’s get out of here.” And I can’t help but agree with you.

_ ~~~~ _

_ The whole room is decorated in red. Red tablecloths, red lights, red balloons. The food is the only thing that isn’t red. There’s a delectable chocolate cake in the middle of the large table that holds the food, maybe I can bring you back a slice, to make up for all the hospital food you’re being forced to have. _

_ It wasn’t the same without you. Yes, we were grateful to have artists who kindly stepped in for you, but the audience didn’t seem as enthusiastic. And this party. Sure, I’ve mauvered my way around, talking to people I know, but I want to return to you. Whenever I think about you, worries fill my brain, as quickly as water rushing in to fill space. I wonder if you’ve were able to see our performance, or if the painkillers had settled in. _

_ Early tomorrow morning, I’m supposed to fly out to California, to be with Morleigh and the rest of her family so we could all celebrate Hanukkah together. There’s nothing much for me to do. I never unpacked my suitcase since being here in New York, I just grabbed whatever I could find out of there and put it on in the morning. I have my passport and plane ticket ready. But I don’t want to leave you. Yes, you have Ali and your children and an amazing team of doctors and nurses and that german physical therapist you don’t seem very keen about just yet. However, I want to be with you. I wonder if Morleigh would allow me to come later than we had originally planned. _

~~~~

The elevator is empty except for us. Your leaning your head on my shoulder. The steady rhythm of your breathing tells me that you are finally back in your body. My glass of whiskey is empty.

The elevator lets out another chime, signaling we’ve passed another floor. You look up at me, your blue eyes wide and full of curiosity. I set my glass down on the floor, and run my hands through your hair. You close your eyes and lean your head back, letting out a soft purr. I chuckle, and your putting your hands on my hips and we’re swaying back and forth, back and forth.

Who started it, I have no idea, but soon we’re kissing. It starts slow, but soon we’re both feverish and I can’t get enough of you. Your pulse is racing and your breath is hot and coming out in little puffs between kiss. Your hands are exploring my body, and with as they graze over, I can’t help but shudder. The purrs coming from you are becoming longer and deeper.

A final chime signals that the elevator has stopped on our floor and we waltz out, our bodies still pieced together. The hallway was empty, and you push me against one of the walls. God, I could just melt into your arms under your touch, but I manage to keep myself standing. I fumble with my hotel key, and as soon as it clicks, you let out a moan. You steer me inside and we both stumble under each other’s weight. Next thing I know, I’m on top of you on the duvet cover. Your panting, hair disheveled and your jacket sliding off your shoulders. Your eyes, wild, are staring up at mine, and you reach up to paw at my nose, like a cat. You turn your attention to my shirt and start to bat away at that.

I can’t help but smirk down at you, but I obey your silent command.

~~~~

_ “They say that epsom salt baths are supposed to help relieve sore muscles.” You’re sitting on the bathroom sink, back pressed against the mirror, and I'm sitting on the floor. We’re both waiting for the water to heat up in the bathtub. My guitar is still in its case. You slide off the counter, wincing. Even though you’re supposed to be on bed rest since being discharged from the hospital, you were eager to start physical therapy right away. The consequences must have caught up to you. You run your hand under the water, and then shut off the tap. We’ve already added the salts to the bath, so you ease yourself into the bathtub, with my help. You sigh and close your eyes. _

_ I can’t help but notice your body. Your disheveled hair, the dark circles under your eyes, the healing scars on your arm and face, the fading bruises. We both know that we have a little over six months before we go on tour again. Every day is like sand slipping away in an hourglass. _

_ I look over at my guitar case, and when I turn my eyes towards you, you’re looking down at yourself. You seem smaller, like you’ve curled in on yourself. And your shoulders are shaking. _

_ “Bono,” I begin. I’ve forgotten about the guitar, and I reach my hand towards you. You turn your head, and I can tell by your expression that all sense of hope has drained out of you. _

_ “I, I just need some time alone, some time to myself now.” You smile, but it is small and forced. I nod and get up off the floor. You sink deeper under the water. _

_ I find myself staring at the white paint of the bathroom door. Silence fills your house, your children and Ali are out doing last-minute Christmas shopping, and your lost somewhere in your own world. _

_ I’ve been with you all the time during your recovery. Though most of it has been spent sleeping or complaining, I have been by your side for all of it. With all the encouragement everyone has given you, an entire book could have been made. _

_ Now, your sobs are tearing out those pages. _

_ ~~~~ _

“Reg, Reg, wake up.” I groan and open my eyes. The room is dark, and I don’t need to glance at the clock next to the bed to figure out it is some early hour of the morning. My eyes adjust to the dark, and I can see your figure sitting up in bed, staring at me.

“What it is Bono?” I ask, propping myself on one of the pillows,

“I had a dream and I need to tell you about it.”

“Can’t it wait until the morning?”

“Not really,” your voice has gotten smaller, and I can instantly tell that this dream was bothering you.

“Alright, I’m listening.”

“Well, I was sitting on a bench. I don’t know where I was, but I was sitting on the bench and this man comes up to me. He’s wearing this black suit, with a black tie, and his hat is down so low, I can’t make out his face. He sits down next to me, and doesn’t say anything to me. I opened my mouth to say something to him, but he says ‘It’s over. You’re gone.’”

“As in, you died?”

“I assume so, but then he turns his head and says to me, ‘I can fix that you know. I can give it all back to you. You just have to give me something in return. We can discuss that later.’ And he holds out his hand to shake. I don’t really give much thought, but I shake his hand, and I can feel something rush through me. It’s this warm feeling, I really don’t know how to describe it. But at the same time, something else is draining from me.

“When we break out hands away, he dusts off his suit, and says ‘Don’t worry, I already have what I need.’

“Everything shifts, and I’m back on stage. You’re on my right, Adam my left, and Larry is at his drum kit behind us. The crowd is all there in front of us, and I opened my mouth to sing, but no words come out. Nothing. I don’t have a voice. I’m getting desperate, and then I see him. The same person, in black suit and tie, he’s there on the rail. And he’s smirking at me.”

“So, from what I can piece together, this mysterious person, he gave you the will to live, but in return took your voice.”

“Yes,” you go silent for a moment, “God, but it felt so real, the dream? What if it happened to me when I’m up on stage. One minute, I’m singing and the next I’m silent. What would we do?”

“B, that will never happen. Even if it did, there are doctors we could go to. You have support.”

“But what about the fans? I would disappoint them. I would disappoint you, Adam and Larry, the crew, myself. God, I hate myself.”

“Don’t say that.”

“But it’s true Reg. It all started with the bicycle. One moment I’m fine, the next minute, I’m having surgery and I’ve messed up most of my body. They can fix me, give me medication, cloth me, make me look beautiful again, but it’s hard. Some days, I wake up and I don’t want to do anything. I don’t feel like me.

“And then the next year, I go and mess up again.”

“Stop it, Bono. None of this is true.”

“Everyone says that, and it isn’t. Remember that journalist who came to interview me a few days ago? Everytime I paused, or took too long to answer his question, he took it all in. I can imagine what he’s writing about me, calling me, oh I don’t know, a living, breathing taxidermy.” You pause,

“And my hand. I miss playing guitar, I really do. I don’t mind so much when we’re on stage because I was never as good as you, but when I’m at home or by myself, sometimes I just want to be able to play. And I still can’t feel properly, because I screwed up my nerves so badly.” You let out a shaky breath and I know that you are close to tears. I shift over and hold you, running my hand through your hair. You take a couple deep breaths to calm down.

“Bono, you didn’t mess up, you never have. No matter what people say about you, I am always here for you, and I will always love you,” I give your forehead a kiss, “You are one of the strongest, most dedicated people I know.” Suddenly, I get an idea, “Wait here.” I throw the covers of the bed off me and stand. It takes a few minutes, but soon I am back in bed with you with a guitar. I hand it to you,

“Here, you’ve said you wanted to play again. Now’s your chance.”

“Edge, I-”

“Yes you can. You know what to do when you have a melody.”

“But Reg,”

“Bono, I wouldn’t do this if I didn’t believe in you. It’s tuned, just play”

It takes a few moments, but before long, the sound of a C chord fills the room, followed by a G.

“See, you still remember the chords, it’s easy.” Before long, the sound of the guitar is flowing into every space and crack in the rooms. You’re humming along to yourself experimenting, and I can’t help but smile. I’ll never be able to express how much I truly adore you, will I?

~~~~

I don’t remember falling asleep, but I remember waking up to the orchestra of birds outside our hotel room and the first rays of sunlight slipping in. You’ve fallen asleep, the guitar still in your arms and a pad of paper next to you, with writing all over it. I take the guitar and place it gently on the ground before covering you back up with the sheets. I stand, and change back into the clothes that I wore yesterday, they had been on the floor for the majority of the night, but I didn’t mind. In the small kitchenette, I found a water kettle and a box of tea packets and brewed myself a cup. I inhaled its herbal scent and took a sip, watching you sleep the entire time. It's calming, the early morning sun illuminating your peaceful expression.

I couldn’t help but wonder what you had written on the paper. I make my way over to you and take the paper, making sure to be as quiet as I can so you don't wake. The writing turns out to be guitar chords. It's as though you were writing a song.

I take a seat on the chair overlooking the bed, and set my cup of tea next to me. Grabbing my guitar, I quickly check to see if it's tuned, and when it is, I look at the paper. I begin to strum the chords you've written, and the notes on the paper seem to come alive.

The more I strum, the more the words form in my head. Soon, I'm singing. Softly and quietly, almost like a whisper as you're still asleep.

_ “And I'll be wondering, _

_ I'll be waiting away somewhere, _

_ And I'll be listening, _

_ For the sound of your voice in the air.” _

Those are all the words that I can think of. When I look back up at you, I can't help but notice the small smile on your face as you pull the sheets up around you.


End file.
